


How to Suffer a Storm

by philiatran (drocula)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angsty Remus, Community: rs_games, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, R/S Games 2016, basically just pretentious words about living and love, communication issues, lighthouse au, no really like... you guys know ur allowed to talk about feelings right..?, pining Sirius, pining remus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drocula/pseuds/philiatran
Summary: Remus Lupin is fine. Sure, his teenage crush just washed up on the rocks of his lighthouse looking just as pretty as he did seven years ago, but he's fine. Absolutely fucking fine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** The main character has depression so there is a lot of self critical/negative spiels. Vague suicide ideation, but it isn't graphic. Occasional swearing.
> 
>  **Prompt:** 'Fate whispers to the warrior, "You cannot withstand the storm", and the warrior whispers back, "I am the storm".' - Unknown
> 
>  **Notes:** First of all, I'm so glad I was able to finish this. This is a piece of writing that I am genuinely proud of, and I feel like I've put a lot of heart and soul into it. I hope it gives you even half the amount of feelings it gave me.
> 
> Here are some extra things!
> 
> \- [Playlist (8tracks)](http://8tracks.com/sarcasticbee/how-to-suffer-a-storm)  
> \- [Playlist (Spotify)](https://open.spotify.com/user/dyparsons/playlist/6GU05hMXfEUo4QKFZ9R5pk)  
> \- [Mood Tag](http://cutercryptid.tumblr.com/tagged/rsg16)

_Fate whispers to the warrior_  
_"You cannot withstand the storm"_  
_and the warrior whispers back_  
_"I am the storm"_  
_~ Unknown_

*

On Friday, despite the good luck charms that Lily had hung in their tiny common room, the storm escalated to waves like battering rams that pounded against the walls of the lighthouse. When it was Remus’ turn to climb the stairs and turn on the beacon, he stood in the lantern room and stared out into the ultramarine sea, which tossed and curdled with a violent force.

A little more of him than usual wished he could throw himself into that water.

The storm had raged for almost a week, having given way to picturesque skies on Thursday morning before returning once again with doubled aggression. It was back to stale air and close quarters for the three lighthouse keepers. The only light Remus could find in the situation was that at least in the lighthouse he could hide away. His only opponent was the sea, and it was an opponent he wouldn’t mind losing to.

Remus… was losing. He hadn’t been to the lighthouse since he was sixteen, standing beside the comforting and commanding presence of his father. To a boy overjoyed with the concept of solitude, the lighthouse was a haven. A haven of tinned food and cold, musty air, but a haven nonetheless.

Now, to a twenty-five year old man with more sorrows than he had pleasures, the lighthouse was a tomb. His father had always known the risks, and experience had made him complacent. The sea had taken his father, and Remus wondered if it would take him too. If he asked politely, it might even take him mercifully.

Having lit the beacon, Remus sank to the floor and stared through the windows of the lantern room and watched the waves beat against the rocky shores that lay at the bottom of the lighthouse. The travelling light illuminated images of sea foam and towering waves, like a flashlight working against an inky darkness. Remus’ heart beat fast, though not as fast as the rain that drummed against the glass panes, almost louder than the occasional sound of the foghorn.

With the feeling that he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night, Remus opened his journal and unclipped a pen from the binder.

He wasn’t sure why he wrote in it. Perhaps someone would find it in ten years and it would be published as some great tribute to the nobility of lighthouse keepers. It would be called: _Depressed as Shit But Still Saving Lives One Fucking Foghorn at a Time._

_6/2/1993_

_The storm is worse. Not sure if I love it or hate it. Regardless, the lamp is fine, foghorn is, unfortunately, as loud as ever… Lily’s trying to make me feel better but it’s not exactly working. I think the storm is just punishment for me being such a waste of space, but when I told that to Lily she just punched me and told me to stop being such a dick to her best friend._

_I got another punch when I asked her why she’d be best friends with the fucking ocean._

_I guess that’s my step one for how to suffer a storm. Self deprecating jokes don’t go down well with Lily Evans._

Remus stared down at the inky blue lines of his writing, unfeeling, before something in him froze suddenly. He put the journal down hesitantly, a strange feeling in his gut.

A light shone in the far distance, almost imperceptible, but there. Having seen such lights before, Remus recognized it almost immediately as a ship, small and sickeningly vulnerable, and felt his stomach sink further.

Remus didn’t know all too much about boats, but he did know that trying to stay afloat in the weather they were experiencing didn’t hold a lot of promise. In contrast to the romantic sky of stars, the sea thrashed like a rabid creature, the light of the ship moving rapidly as it was thrown about miserably.

The worst thing was that Remus couldn’t do a goddamned thing.

Something, however, thought otherwise, as his eyes roved hopelessly from the boat to the lighthouse, calculating distance, measuring possibilities.

“Holy shit,” Remus breathed suddenly, anxiety stinging his chest as he took in the dark and _human_ , awfully, terribly _human_ , shape that clung in terror to one of the jagged rocks surrounding the lighthouse. The waves that periodically beat against the lighthouse had diminished a little, and in his panic driven haze Remus only saw one solution.

Remus took the stairs three at a time.

The mantra in his mind as he flung open the heavy front door and half closed it behind him was a single toned shriek mingled with curses that would make his mother horrified.

He took the rarely used length of rope secured to the side of the lighthouse and looped it around his waist, double knotting it as he frantically scanned the rocks around him. He had no more than thirty seconds, he guessed, as he spotted whomever it was clinging to the rocks. His footsteps were quick and unstable, the rain soaking his clothes almost immediately and turning his fingers white.

With quick, careful steps, he got close enough to see the person shaking, and felt a relief in him so strong it racked him.

“Hey!” Remus screamed, fear obvious and trembling in his voice, “You have to follow me!”

The figure startled, head whipping upwards. Remus registered fear and blood. Not his most favorite pairing, but a face full of fear was infinitely better than nothing at all.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!” the man sobbed, “I’m gonna die!”

Remus ignored the part of him that was nodding in resignation, and reached up a hand. The moonlight illuminated its outline in silvery white, and he held it there, a desperate and shining plead for the other man to take it.

“You aren’t going to die so long as you take my fucking hand and follow me!”

A beat passed. Another followed. Remus held his hand steady as the rain beat the back of his neck and the thunder-laced wind struggled to topple him.

The man reached down and took it, and Remus guided him quickly off the rock and onto the shore. The hand in his was wet, but blessedly, wonderfully alive. Remus tugged him towards the lighthouse and prayed that it would remain so.

The man looked back and screamed so gutturally that Remus felt like retching. He took a glance backwards, and the urge to be sick doubled.

Remus had never been so terrified of the sea.

His father had told him time and time again that respecting the sea wasn’t enough. You had to fear it, to feel terror so great in the face of it that you never underestimated its chaotic cruelty. Remus had though he understood, but now… _Now_ he was afraid. Watching the storm from the lamp room was nothing… nothing compared to this.

“Come on!” Remus cried, and began to run, using one hand to keep the stranger beside him and the other to pull himself forward by the rope, his feet slipping on wet stone. The motivation to not be crushed against the stone tower like chalk made his hands stronger, his feet faster.

In the end, it was a matter of mere seconds.

Remus pushed the man through the half open door before flitting in himself.

“Help me,” he panted, heart racing as he struggled to close the heavy door. Hands overlapped his as they pulled… pulled…

And they were safe.

Remus let out a helpless sort of sob and sank to his knees, staring a little disbelievingly at the water that had begun to pool around him.

“I can’t believe you…” the man gasped, “I can’t believe you did that, you _idiot_! You could have died!”

“ _You_ could have died!” Remus shot back disbelievingly, looking away from his soaked sweatpants and up at the man he’d nearly died for. The man was faced away from him, hands threading through the thick black hair that was plastered against the back of his neck. Remus numbly took in toned shoulders, short frame, long dark hair.

“That isn’t the point,” the man said, turning around suddenly. Remus lowered his eyes.

Before looking up just as fast.

“Sirius _Black_?”

The man’s face, _Sirius’ face_ , blanched, and for a few seconds he stared numbly at him, droplets rolling steadily down his face. With a curse barely disguised as a whimper, he fell to his knees in front of Remus and gripped his shoulders hard.

“Remus! You- what are you- you’re _here_ ? And you… you saved my _life_!”

Remus said nothing as he stared at the face he hadn’t seen for years. Seven years, if you wanted to be exact, although Remus didn’t. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to guess. He didn’t want to _believe_ it.

He hadn’t seen Sirius Black since school, and hadn’t thought he’d see him at all after that. His face was older now, less round and more angled, perhaps a good deal more worn, but still beautiful. Still frustratingly, achingly beautiful.

And it was here, in his lighthouse.

“Oh, fuck _me_ ,” Remus mumbled, and it was right at that moment that Lily Evans, a miracle with red hair and tartan slippers, slipped into the tiny corridor.

“What… What’s happening?” she asked, a bewildered tone to her voice, “Did someone go outside?”

Her hair was wild around her shoulders, her eyes sleepy, the crease of her pillow having left a pink imprint on her cheek, but she was no less intimidating. She caught sight of Sirius, kneeling on the floor dripping and miserable, and blanched.

“Uh,” said Remus, more than a little in shock himself, “You remember Sirius Black?”

Lily stared at Sirius, looking flabbergasted.

“Yeah, why is he... here?”

“That’s a good fucking question, actually!” Remus said, laughing a little hysterically, “Considering I just pulled him from the fucking rocks!”

Lily dropped the torch from her hand.

“Remus Lupin!” she shouted, her cheeks turning red, “If you went out into that storm at the risk of _death_ to save Sirius fucking _Black,_ then I will _kill_ you.”

Remus hunched smaller, and felt Sirius’ hand move to rub his neck in comfort. He shook it off with a glare.

“I had to, Lily,” he defended, “I was in the lamp room and I saw someone on the rocks! What was I supposed to do?”

“Good god, Remus,” Lily said between her teeth, jaw clenched, “You could have killed yourself.”

“If I could interject here?” Sirius said calmly, “I agree with Evans, that was fucking irresponsible.”

Remus glared at him and tried to forget how unfairly nice his face was.

“Would you rather be dead, you git? God, this is why you and James were so insufferable in school!”

Any hint of relief that had previously been on Sirius’ face suddenly fell away. A look of panic replaced it so suddenly that Remus’ throat seized.

“Oh Christ,” Sirius breathed, tears welling in his eyes, “I was on a ship, me and James, we were- his dad’s boat- oh god Remus, what if he went over too and didn’t make it?”

Remus felt sick. Sure, he thought he’d gotten to a point where he’d gotten over Sirius and James and the sickeningly wonderful friendship he knew wouldn’t last. But he couldn’t deny that he cared about them, and the thought of James somewhere in that storm, alone, possibly even dead, shook Remus in a way he hadn’t been shaken since his father died. Well… since a minute ago when he himself had nearly died the same way.

Sirius buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders started to tremble violently. Remus watched his white fingers; his blue lips.

“I have to go out there,” Sirius said, his voice heavy, “I have to help him!”

“I can’t let you do that,” Lily said, face steely, tears in her eyes, “I can’t let you die.”

Sirius rose to his feet and made dizzily for the door, his face terrified and frantic. His breathing sounded labored and shallow.

“He’s not thinking straight,” Lily said, turning to Remus with a look of worry, “We can’t let him out there.”

Remus nodded grimly, taking one look at Sirius’ firm looking muscles and grimacing. He quickly moved to stand in front of the door, face stony, and grabbed Sirius’ shoulders.

“There’s a storm out there, Sirius, you aren’t leaving.”

“Like you get to talk about leaving, you left _me_!” Sirius shouted, his body shivering like the vibrations would tear him apart, “You left me after school finished like you didn’t even care about me! Why should I think you care now?”

Anger. Anger was good. Anger was Sirius’ body and mind fighting; anger wasn’t resignation. Anger kept people alive.

Remus felt a twist in his gut; he did care. Of _course_ he cared. He cared so much he locked himself away in a lighthouse for two months a year to forget about the ache in his heart and other assorted pains associated with Sirius Black. Isolation was his medication, but his prescription seemed to have run out.

“I care, you idiot, why else do you think I want you to stay here and not fucking die?”

Sirius sobbed almost involuntarily and sank to the floor.

“We waited for you to reply to our letters, we tried to call you…”

God, Remus never thought he’d have this conversation; never anticipated how much it would hurt to be reminded of how much he hurt people.

“Sirius,” he interrupted, tilting his head towards his room in prompting for Lily to bring Sirius something warm to wear, “I promise, we can talk about this later, but you can’t go out these doors. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sirius’ head fell against his knees, bile tearing at his throat, and in a lighthouse surrounded by storm with Remus’ hand on the back of his neck, he started to cry.

*

_7/2/1993_

_He slept all night. I didn’t sleep at all. You tend not to when a storm washes up pain from your past._

_I thought I was going to die. I’m not really sure whether or not I was okay with that. I didn’t see anything flash before my eyes, or anything, it was just sort of-_

_nothing._

_Everything outside of my body was loud, so fucking loud, like every particle was screaming at me and falling apart. But inside I felt like an empty chasm extending forever, like maybe I was dead, just for a minute._

_How to suffer a storm, step two: accept that nothing, nothing makes sense._

*

He was in the lamp room watching the sunrise when Marlene found him.

“He woke up for a minute or so,” she said, lowering herself to the ground to rest her head on Remus’ shoulder, “He was asking for you.”

Remus’ stomach fluttered.

“Was he angry?” Remus asked quietly, and Marlene found his hand and gave it a squeeze. Her dark hair was braided back and smelled of salt, and her lips were chapped and dry. She smiled at him, the apricot glow of the morning sun kissing her olive skin and making Remus wish, not for the first time, that he was beautiful.

“Nah,” she said dismissively, “He just looked kinda… pensive.”

Marlene looked out to the sea where the muted, navy water churned foam against the rocks. Her eyes looked tired, the skin beneath them bruised with worry and sleeplessness and exhaustion. She looked pensive herself, eyebrows drawn in  a way that Remus recognised from Lily’s face, and his own in the mirror. Marlene was tired of storms. She was homesick.

“It’s hard to imagine that the world is moving on without us, don’t you think?” she said softly, “I feel like we’re in stasis, sometimes.”

So did Remus. Sure, the sun rose and set over the water each day, but a numb part of Remus wondered if it was just an illusion, falsely claiming the validity of reality when he was just… suspended. He pretended to love the salt scented air and tempestuous water when he knew that what he really loved was hiding. And god, did he do it well.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Remus finally said.

Marlene chewed the inside of her cheek in though for a few seconds.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, “For me? Yes. I feel like I haven’t done anything… meaningful with my life, you know? And it’s sort of comforting being here with the illusion that… I don’t have to plan ahead, or work out what I want to study. I know it’s not real, but I can pretend, at least for a few months, that I get to escape for a while.”

Remus leaned his chin on his knees and started to massage the frown from his brow.

“You could stay here?” he offered weakly, “S’not like I have anything to go back to, so I may as well, you know. Stay.”

“That’s horseshit and you know it, Remus,” Marlene scoffed, “Lily _adores_ you. As do I, I’ll have you know.”

Remus blushed a little, pressing his palms to his cheeks.

“I don’t even have a proper job, Marlene,” he said, a little miserably, “I’m sleeping on Lily’s couch, which is even worse.”

Marlene bopped him on the nose with her thumb and smiled comfortingly.

“Remus, you’re a gorgeous guy with a lot more than a nice bum going for you,” she said, and Remus laughed, a little mollified, “I know you’re fighting more than one storm, Remus. You’ve just gotta find different ways to say ‘fuck you’.”

“I’ve never heard such a reassuring thing containing the words ‘fuck you’,” said Remus with a grin, and Marlene nudged her shoulder into his with a snort.

“You should go talk to him,” Marlene suddenly said, her voice more serious than it had been before, “You may not’ve shown to him it back in school, but you adored him.”

Remus groaned. He’d been quite happy forgetting that particular detail. In fact, he’d been quite happy forgetting any detail about Sirius, because Sirius had broken his heart, and now he’d suddenly turned up without warning and nearly broken his body.

Remus could barely keep himself together as it was. He was fighting two storms, one inside and one out, and Sirius was the condensation that had been distorting the figurative glass in front of him since the moment they’d met.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Remus admitted bitterly.

“Just be honest,” Marlene said gently, “Or make up some convincing bullshit. Either way is good.”

Remus laughed, though his mind felt foggy, unsure. Perhaps is was just the inevitable effects of having walked into a sea storm, but he felt ill; his head somehow cold and warm, and his body slightly stretched at the edges.

“Alright,” he muttered with a long-suffering sigh, “I’ll go see if he’s awake yet.”

Remus felt a now familiar twist in his stomach, and stood, ready to descend the stairs to a conversation he should have had seven years ago. The lighthouse had far fewer stairs than he remembered.

*

Remus creaked open the door to his tiny room and stepped inside, careful to keep his steps quiet on the stone floor. The cold air was stale, with a hint of the musk from the plain candle burning by the corner. The orange flicker of light highlighted the sleeping profile of the man in the bed, the long eyelashes, sharp Cupid’s bow, and dark flushed cheeks.

Remus moved towards him, and pressed three fingers to Sirius’ forehead. It was much too warm, even for a man whose body temperature had always been strangely high. Remus had sometimes thought that Sirius had soaked up so much sunlight that it shone warm and golden through his skin.

Remus wished he didn’t think things like that.

“You haven’t touched me like that for a long time,” Sirius muttered, his eyes still closed. Remus drew his hand back hurriedly, holding onto the barest hope that Sirius had just spoken in his sleep.

“What?” he said quietly.

“I said,” Sirius started again, opening his eyes this time, “That you haven’t touched me like that for a long time.”

Sirius’ eyes had more blue in them than he remembered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, a broken lilt to his voice. He sat down on the stool beside the bed and stared blankly at Sirius’ hands.

“It means,” sighed Sirius, “That I can’t believe we both had to nearly die for you to see me again.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Remus said shortly, turning his eyes away and wishing his room had more in it to occupy his gaze with.

“But _I_ do, Remus,” Sirius was sitting up now, a cautious hand reaching for Remus’ knee, “I’ve wanted to talk about this with you for seven years.”

Sirius’ hand on his leg was hot and accusing, and its weight was so impossible to ignore that Remus felt sick. Guilty. 

“People don’t always stay friends after college, Sirius,” he said impassively, and he knew it was true. He also knew that if he’d tried harder, if he’d just let go of the fear of being cast off and the fear of drifting away, being unwanted… Maybe he could have made things work. Maybe he could have _let_ them work. 

“ _We_ could have,” Sirius whispered, and the words came, wet and painful, from his throat. They were ernest, frank. And Remus hated them. Sirius seemed to find them so easily, he always had, like they were a part of his body, an appendage that was beautiful and fluid and perfect. Remus could pen words on a paper, but his voice seemed to always falter when it was pressed with things of importance to say.  

God, he was terrible. His mind felt like misted glass, opaque with beads of condensation and the moisture of his breath. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think, and it made no sense, and Sirius watched him with measured eyes as he struggled to speak. 

Too many thoughts thrashed wildly in his head, and he had to take a few deep breaths to quell the overwhelming urge to run all the way back to the lamp room and hide away. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Sirius said gently, “You still feel… What did you call it in school? Your storm?” 

Remus snorted. 

“Anxiety is probably a better word to describe it now,” he said dryly, cheeks feeling a little warm, “I’ve grown out of my pseudo-poetry phase, I’ll have you know.”

“That was _my_ phase!” Sirius interjected, looking affronted, “Your phase had salt practically coming out your ears.” 

Remus was surprised to feel the beginnings of a smile touching his lips. 

“Alright, that’s fair,” he conceded, and thought unsuccessfully for something else to say. Sirius didn’t seem to mind the silence, apparently content simply watching Remus as he shifted uncomfortably. 

“You know, you told me your dad worked in lighthouses, but I didn’t think I’d find you in one,” he finally said, though his eyes lost none of their previous intensity. 

“Why not?” Remus asked, his voice genuine. Sirius pouched his lips to the side in thought for a second. 

“You just always seemed to have a lot of passion… For history and the arts and… _learning_. I guess I always just assumed that you’d one day be ‘Professor Lupin’; fluffy haired scholar and author of seven insightful and award winning novels.” 

Remus laughed quietly, his feelings complicated and bitter and amused. He wondered if that meant Sirius was disappointed, if he’d been holding Remus to crystalline expectations that Remus had just shattered on the floor. He wondered if it was even worth trying to patch the fragments together again. 

“Hey,” Sirius said worriedly, “I didn’t mean that in a ‘I’m disappointed’ sort of way. I’m just saying that I think you’re beyond capable of those things. You’ve always been that way.” 

Remus nodded, looking down to his hands and flexed his fingers in a feeble effort to distract himself. _Curl. Extend._ _Curl._ _Extend._  

 _Curl._  

_Extend._

“You saved my life, Remus,” Sirius tried again, “You’re capable of anything, I know it.” 

“Yeah,” Remus muttered morosely, figurative foot nudging the figurative shards of glass on the floor, “Real capable.” 

Sirius looked like he was about to cry, his face brimming with an emotion that pinched his eyebrows and tensed the corners of his mouth. He didn’t look hurt, exactly, but Remus hazarded a guess that Sirius, too, was tasting ghosts. 

“Why don’t you try to get a bit more rest,” said Remus, “I’ll get you something to eat. Nothing hot, I’m afraid.” 

“I don’t think I can sleep any longer,” Sirius admitted quietly, “I keep having… Dreams.” 

“Dreams about what?” 

A pause. Sirius stared at the wall. 

“James. I don’t know if… Whether or not…” 

Sirius’ sentence remained unfinished, but his thoughts were clear. Remus wished he could say something reassuring, something that Sirius would no doubt say to him if their roles were reversed, but he didn’t want to lie. He couldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep, not when he’d broken promises before. 

The silence festered. 

Sirius caught his eyes, and neither of them moved, trying, and perhaps failing, to convey things they hadn’t said since they were teenagers with too much optimism and dreams too big to conquer. In the end, their dreams had conquered them. 

Remus was twenty five. His bones were cold and tired but they were young. His heart, his mind; they were both like butter stretched over too much bread. He felt distorted. He felt… stale. Too many ideas and dreams and hopes had been shuffled to the back of his mind like a never ending conveyor belt that put hopeful things to rest, and they had accumulated until he felt like his brain was too full to bear. His brain was full and his heart was empty and the ghosts from his past _hurt._  

Remus entertained the thought that Sirius could tell those things just by looking at him, and immediately dismissed it. His thoughts were loud only in his own mind. 

“As soon as we’re able to radio transmissions,” said Remus softly, “I’ll have a friend on the coast search for him. We’ll find him. I can feel it.” 

“Thank you,” came the whispered reply, and if Remus were braver, he’d extend a hand in comfort. He didn’t, of course, but it was nice to imagine. 

* 

 _9/2/1993_  

 _How to suffer a storm, step three. If you get trapped with a ghost from your past, run. If you don’t, it’ll eat you up and make you feel so much. Too much. You won’t be able to stand it._  

* 

Two days later, Remus leaned his forearms against the rusted railing that circled the balcony outside the lamp room. He’d spent a lot of time on that balcony as a kid, watching his father spend his whole life devoting himself to the waves he was watching now. He’d watched his father attempt to know the sea, to understand it. For the most part, Remus had watched him fail. 

Remus hadn’t spent his life living for the sea, but he’d spent enough time observing it to know that he would never be able to fathom it. Each day brought a new ocean at the lighthouse’s feet; peach touched crystalline sheets of water one morning, then ultramarine waves laced with angry foam in the evening. 

Remus wasn’t concerned with understanding the sea. It would always be there, enforcing its dominating presence around his lighthouse, and around the United Kingdom. Remus wished to understand people; a hope much more fleeting, much more vulnerable. 

He’d thought, when he was younger and fresher and brighter, that he almost understood Sirius Black. 

Sirius Black, who was honest and dramatic and biting; the perfect Mercutio. 

Remus was a heartbroken Benvolio. Afraid and alone and wishing his story had been written differently. He put pen to paper, wrote speculations and re-imaginings, but the only thing that changed was the number of remaining pages in his journal. 

Remus’ train of thought halted when the door to the balcony creaked open. Sirius gave him a half smile, his hands immediately flying to his hair, which the wind was tugging about in all directions. Remus watched indulgently as Sirius gathered the flyabout locks with pale fingers and tied them behind his head. 

Remus felt greasy, his skin felt salty, but Sirius said nothing as he leaned gently on the railing beside him, staring out at the sea. 

Sirius worried words on his tongue for a minute. 

“Do you think I’m still the same person that I was back then?” 

Remus startled at the unexpected question, and chewed his lip uneasily, hyper aware of the way Sirius’ side pressed against his own. It was comforting. Familiar. 

“You _feel_ different,” Remus admitted, though there was no condescending lilt to his voice. 

“In what way?”

“You feel like… More. More layers, more depth. More… a lot of things.” 

Sirius didn’t reply, pressing his arms further into his sides, his eyes half closed against the wind. 

“Is it a good different?” he asked finally, and Remus wondered what answer he was looking for. 

“Your differences are better than my differences,” he said honestly, forcing a half smile to soften the bitterness of his self criticism. It didn’t quite work. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Sirius whispered, and he didn’t sound frustrated, just… sad. Resigned, somehow. As if he were helplessly watching Remus enter a place he didn’t want him to go. 

“I know,” Remus said in return, and he felt useless. Depressing. Tired. He wished he could crumble and disintegrate into the wind, and be carried somewhere far away where he couldn’t hurt Sirius anymore. 

Sirius put a hand on Remus’ arm, and it felt solid and present. 

“Do you remember the impossible things we used to say we’d do?” Sirius asked, the tone of his voice insinuating he thought Remus didn’t remember. 

Of course he did. 

He smiled, mind fishing for an impossible thing, a trivial piece of his youth that he hadn’t let slip away. 

“I’m going to have sex on the moon,” Remus recalled with a fond laugh, remembering the way Sirius’ voice had sounded as he’d said those very words over the phone so many years before. 

~ 

 _“How are you going to have sex without taking off your space suit?”_  

 _“Hey, it’s an impossible bucket list, Remus, I can have sex on the moon if I fucking want to!”_  

 _“You’re so pretentious, Pads, why would you even want to have sex on the moon?”_  

 _“‘Sirius Black, first to consummate on the moon’. It’s gonna be in the history books. Just you wait, Remus John Lupin, you’ll be fucking sorry you ever doubted me. I am a star, you know.”_  

 _“I hate you.”_  

 _“Love you too.”_  

~ 

Sirius laughed, a genuine one this time, free of the clenching resignation his voice had held before. He’d done that. _Remus._ He was the one who’d made Sirius laugh like that. 

“I loved our impossible things,” Sirius said, feverish lips pulled into a smile, “You made me feel a lot less scared of the future, you know.” 

“I made you think a lot less _realistically_ of the future, you mean.” 

“Don’t get clever with me,” Sirius said with happy laugh, “I mean it! You always made things like that. Less scary than they really were.” 

Remus took in a breath, and for some reason the air didn’t quite seem to reach his lungs. He coughed suddenly, his chest tight. 

“So did you ever manage it?” He said around his cough, and Sirius laughed again. Laughing. Always laughing. 

“Unfortunately, no. Why d’you think you haven’t seen my name in the paper yet?” 

“Well that’s completely underwhelming.” 

“Aw, Moony, don’t be so harsh, I just haven’t found someone willing to risk the no oxygen thing.” 

Remus felt his chest seize up a little. He felt… He felt sick, his sinuses stung. _Ghosts. Ghosts. Ghosts._  

“Hey, did I say something wrong?” Sirius said insistently, looking concerned and guilty, and Remus could barely stand to be in his presence. 

“No, it’s just…” the words caught in his throat, and the wind fought to carry them away, “I… Haven’t been called that for a long time.” 

“No one... calls you Moony anymore?”

For some reason, the very idea had Sirius’ mouth downturned. The same one that had been curved into a smile just seconds before. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Remus said flippantly, staring out at the sea, the storm having almost fully given way to demanding but blessedly safe waters once again. Sirius said nothing, and they both looked out to the sea, Sirius perhaps imagining whether James was near. Remus prayed that he wasn't. James could never deserve a lonely grave beneath the waves. 

“I’m going to watercolour paint the clouds,” Sirius said abruptly, and Remus smiled. 

“Did I say that one?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He remembered the answering sound that Sirius had made over the phone, the quick, breath like laugh you make when you smile too fast. He remembered the way his heart had pattered against his chest. The way he’d smiled against the mouthpiece of the telephone. 

~ 

 _“What colour?”_  

 _“Peach. Apricot. Pastel pinks that make people fall in love.”_  

 _“You want to make people fall in love because of colour? Who’s pretentious now?”_  

 _“Not fall in love_ **_because_ ** _of colour, fall in love_ **_with_ ** _it.”_  

 _“And what benefit does that give you?”_  

 _“... I get to watch the colour reinvent people. I get to fall in love with them.”_  

~ 

“You did,” Sirius confirmed, “You said you wanted the colour to… reinvent people. So you could fall in love with them.” 

“I remember.” 

“What about now?” 

“I think I could fall in love with someone without changing them.” 

Sirius smiled, big and wide, and Remus felt for the first time in a log while, that he had said something right for once. 

“I’m glad,” Sirius said, their hands nearly touching on the railing, and with a feeling of weightlessness and warmth, Remus believed him. 

* 

“Look, I know you’re _saying_ this is food, but I’m going to have to respectfully disagree.” 

“Sirius,” Lily sighed, rubbing her fingers along her brow to alleviate the tension there, “Feel free to starve, but I guarantee that the beans are at least _mostly_ edible.” 

Remus hid his grin in a can of the tinned shit they’d been eating for the last month. Marlene’s foot came into contact with his shin underneath the tiny table they were all crammed around. 

“Remus risked his life for this? For me to eat a cheap canned version of the Black Plague?” 

“We can put you back out there if you’d like,” said Remus airily, “I’m sure it’d be a much better way to go than by food poisoning.” 

“I’m going to kill you both,” Lily said, deadpan, and tilted her head back to get another mouthful of beans. Her throat was pale and freckled, collarbones hollow. 

“You eat those beans, and I’ll show you the boardgames we have lying around,” Marlene suggested, “I mean, we don’t have anything more amusing than a Star Wars edition UNO deck, but at least it’ll keep you busy.” 

Sirius scrunched his nose in distaste and quickly ate a few mouthfuls, his petulant glare focused on Lily the whole time. Remus felt a tiny flare of fondness appear in his chest. Lily just snorted. 

Remus could almost imagine they were all seven years younger, with less lines and less loneliness. He could almost imagine that Lily wasn’t wasting her time making sure he didn’t jump off the top of the lighthouse, and Peter hadn’t betrayed them, and Sirius didn’t have a scar on his neck that Remus hadn’t dared to ask about yet. 

If he squinted, with his eyes almost shut, he could imagine their faces younger. He could imagine more faces; James and Peter. They were at school trying to cheat off of each other’s homework, or sitting around the fire at the Potter’s house eating peaches. He could almost imagine Peter’s crooked smile, James’ hand clapping his shoulder, Lily laughing as she wriggled her toes into his side. Sirius’ hand resting so close to his he could feel the heat. 

He could almost imagine his storm had never been there. 

Almost. 

* 

Lily asked Remus to bring Sirius a can of tinned soup. Remus opened two cans, one for him, one for Sirius, and didn’t feel an ounce of regret as he fished some of the larger pieces of potato and carrot from his ration and moved it to Sirius’. He wondered if he would notice, if he would _worry._  Most likely not, he reasoned, but the very knowledge that he was helping Sirius, the idea that he was _taking care_ of him, made him feel… Warm. Useful. Kind. 

The feeling was new to him, a foreign curl in his belly that left him wanting, craving. 

He offered the soup to Sirius, and as expected, the man noticed nothing but for the unfortunate and off putting consistency of the grey tinged liquid. Remus didn’t mind. 

“I’d thank you...” Sirius had said, a knee almost pressed against Remus’ thigh, “But that would insinuate I _enjoy_ eating garbage.” 

Remus called him a few choice words, but smiled. His hands were cold, curled around the chilled tin, but his chest felt warm.

He welcomed it. 

* 

 _12/2/1993_  

 _How to suffer a storm, step four. Stay warm. Stay soft. Being open to change is… Good. I think. It feels… Right._  

* 

Days passed in such a fashion, and on a soft, yellow toned morning, Sirius cried in the lamp room. He cried big, painful tears that felt so visceral they may as well have been an extension of his very body. They left salty tracks down his cheeks, dripping from his chin and tracing down his neck. Sirius paid them no mind, his fingernails pressed to his temples, creating tiny crescent shaped marks in his skin that looked angry and sore and out of place on him. 

From the top of the stairs, Remus watched quietly, and wished to never again hear the sound of Sirius crying so hard his voice tore. He wanted to comfort him. To take him in his arms and tell him all the things that Sirius needed to hear but might not be true. 

Remus felt like there were entire worlds caught in his throat, fighting and churning and making his feet and tongue so heavy they could barely move. His heart was wild and erratic in his chest, a testament to his fear, his _inexperience._  

He was afraid, but he wanted to be brave. Just once. 

He stepped into the room, his footfalls purposefully loud so as to alert Sirius to his presence. 

Sirius tensed, and his half sob caught in his throat. 

Remus sat down beside him, so their sides were only just touching, and stared out at the sea. 

“He’s not out there, you know,” Remus whispered, “He’s probably with the police, worried fucking sick and shouting at everyone to bring you back home. But he’s not out there. In the water, I mean.” 

Sirius was silent for a few minutes, processing the words, trying desperately to believe them.

“How can we be sure?” he finally asked, “I… I have to know.” 

“Lily thinks the storm has died down enough for our radio to make contact with the coast. We can get a radio signal out to someone.” 

Sirius’ face was hard to read, hovering uncertainly between eagerness and apprehension. Remus understood. Waiting for confirmation of your friend’s death was something Sirius shouldn’t have had to do for a long, long time. 

“Tell me an impossible thing,” said Sirius, his mouth pressed almost to his knees, “Please.” 

Remus thought long and hard, and Sirius waited. 

“We’re going to leave this lighthouse, you and me, and we’ll get a car and drive to… Somewhere. Anywhere. You can pick. We’ll have your favourite CDs and you can show me all the songs you love the most. You’ll tell me everything I’ve missed. We’ll get coffee at a petrol station, you’ll flirt with the person at the register, and I’ll roll my eyes at your pickup lines and only be a little bit exasperated. 

“Then we’ll stop on the side of the highway and you’ll show me your star, and I’ll tell you that it’s the brightest. You’ll say, ‘I know,’ with a stupid smirk, you know the one, and I’ll throw my empty coffee cup at you.” 

Sirius had his fingers pressed beneath his eyes, now only half trying to stop his tears, and when he said, “Tell me more, _please_ ,” Remus swallowed shakily and obliged. 

“You’ll… You’ll buy a hot dog from a shitty convenience store, even though I’ll tell you not to. I’ll know that you mostly just did it to prove you could. You’ll get food poisoning. I’ll put on _The Cure_ and laugh, but I’ll braid your hair back and rub your shoulders while the contents of your stomach get acquainted with the side of the road. I’ll say ‘I told you so’.”

Sirius laughed, a wet, honest laugh that made Remus feel warm and nervous and strong. 

“Those aren’t impossible things,” Sirius said quietly, a half smile on his face, “They’re going to happen, but only if you let them.” 

“I don’t… know if I can leave,” Remus confessed bitterly, “Maybe I’m meant to be here.” 

Sirius shook his head emphatically. 

“I know you, Remus Lupin,” he said, staring out at the sea, “You’re too brilliant to hide yourself away forever.” 

Remus smiled. He hoped Sirius was right. _God,_ he hoped he was right. 

“Can I… Hold your hand? If that’s alright?” Sirius asked, and his cheeks were as pink as the rising sun, and Remus felt like he was seventeen again, pretending he wasn’t in love with this brilliant, strange, and obstinate boy. 

So he offered his hand to Sirius, and the other boy took it and held it and made Remus’ heart beat a little faster. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Remus asked quietly, and Sirius turned his head to face him. His face was stony, impassive, only betrayed by the redness of his eyes, and the dampness of his cheeks. Remus hated seeing him look that way. He would do anything, _anything_ to take it away. 

Sirius sighed. Closed his eyes. Swallowed. 

“I have to be.” 

* 

 _15/2/1993_  

 _How to suffer a storm, step five. Remember that you aren’t the only one trying to stay alive. You’re stronger when you’re not alone._  

* 

“So what are you doing now?” Sirius asked, for the third time in the past ten minutes. Marlene tensed comically at his interruption, her grease stained hands stilling from her work. 

“Black, if you interrupt me one more fucking time-” 

“Okay! Understood!” Sirius said quickly, his mittened hands up in surrender, “I just want to know what's going on!” 

Marlene's face softens. 

“Like you'd ever listen to something that wasn't directly about you,” Lily ribbed good naturedly, bumping her shoulder against Sirius’. Remus appreciated her attempt at light humour. At least someone was trying. 

“I'm just checking shit before I get it started,” Marlene sighed in defeat, “It got a little roughed up last time we used it, so I'm just having a fiddle to make sure it’s working alright.” 

“And then we can radio the coast?” Sirius asked hopefully. Marlene sighed the way a parent does at hearing _‘are we there yet?’_ on endless repeat. 

“Yes Sirius. My answer hasn’t changed since last time, you know.” 

Sirius pulled a mocking face behind Marlene's back, eliciting a half hearted, _almost_ amused glare from Lily and a laugh disguised as a cough from Remus. 

Sirius’ hair was pulled back behind a red bandanna lent to him by Marlene, and secured with one of Lily’s hair ties. Remus had noticed his discomfort at the low level of personal grooming he was forced to maintain, and had approached Lily and Marlene for things to help Sirius get his hair away from his face once it had started getting greasy. 

He’d wondered that it might seem pushy, or invasive, but the relieved and _soft_ look that had brushed across Sirius’ face at the sight of Remus’ offering had made any previous reservation worth it. 

“You know,” said Sirius, his leg jittering nervously, “James and I have a cat. Her name’s Memphis.” 

“Why Memphis?” asked Remus, his lips quirking. 

“You know the song ‘Walking in Memphis’ by Marc Cohn?” Sirius asked, a fond look playing on his lips, “James is mad about that song. It was only released a few years ago, but he’s managed to play it in our flat more times than he’s played anything else. Well. _Almost._ He can still bust a nut just thinking about Freddie Mercury.” 

Remus laughed, visualising a flushed and dancing James Potter, swaying to the beat of music with a cat pressed to his chest, his voice curling passionately and loudly around the lyrics. He wasn’t sure whether the image was a memory or just a fond work of his imagination. 

“I still can’t decide whether introducing you two to _Queen_ was the best or worst decision of my life,” said Lily with a huff, crossing her freckled arms and looking up towards the ceiling. 

“Best.” Sirius declared confidently with a nod, “Imagine living life without having experienced Moony crooning drunkenly to ‘Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy’ at two in the morning. There was a lot of pelvic thrusting during that performance, I seem to recall.” 

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny those accusations,” Remus answered, narrowing his eyes at Sirius, who looked much too pleased in his opinion. He ignored Lily’s guffaw and Marlene’s sly smile. 

“Had a thing for dark-haired bisexual hunks, hey Remus?” prodded Lily with a smirk. Marlene snickered, pausing her checkup of the machine, having chosen to join in on the teasing. 

Remus flushed rosy, glaring at Lily with a hum in his chest. 

“I think we can all agree that Sirius isn’t an ideal source of information,” he muttered, pouting his lips, “At least I didn’t drink an uncountable number of shitty beers and throw up on Peter.” 

Sirius mock glared at him, his bright red bandana somewhat lessening the intimidating power of his gaze. 

“Peter said he didn’t mind!” 

Remus grinned. 

“Then why’d he switch out your conditioner for full fat cream two days afterwards?” 

Sirius gaped, his handsome face twisting dramatically as he pounded a fist on the table. 

“That was _him?_ ” Sirius cried, “I thought that was _Snape!_ ” 

Lily rolled her eyes, leaning her chin on her hands. 

“You always thought it was Snape,” she said, “Which was what made it so easy to prank you and get away with it.” 

“Don’t tell me I was bullied by _you_ too!” 

Lily leaned in close over the table, her pretty face framed by her pale hands as she stared at Sirius challengingly. Remus wondered if her heart jumped as much as his did when Sirius looked at her that fervently, that openly. 

“Mustard. Pickle. Sandwich.” Lily says slowly, savouring the words in her mouth as though she’d been waiting to say them for years, which, Remus supposed, she had. 

Sirius screeched, arms flying into the air in indignation. Lily cackled, her arms crossed over her stomach and her lips pulled wide. Marlene shook her head, fingers pressed to her temples as she smiled. 

And Remus… Remus’ chest ached and he could hardly bear it. Lily hadn’t laughed since before they’d arrived at the lighthouse. Not really, not like _this._ It looked good on her. She looked beautiful, her freckled face and almond eyes softening, becoming the person she was back home. Remus wondered how long she’d stay like that. 

“Did you know about this, Remus?” 

Remus gulped as Sirius’ attention turned to him. An uncomfortable buzz crept into his stomach. 

“Maybe,” he conceded. 

Sirius pouted at him, grey eyes wide. 

“I thought it was us against the world,” Sirius lamented, “Only to find you betrayed me!” 

Remus opened his mouth to respond, before Marlene let out a triumphant whoop. There was a streak of grease across her cheek, and her hair was spilling wildly from her ponytail, but to Remus she was an angel. A real life, actual _angel_. 

“It’s fucking working,” said Marlene breathed, eyes alight, “ _Man,_ how great am I?” 

Remus didn’t miss the way Sirius’ smile slipped off his face. 

* 

Remus had never before been so glad to hear Dorcas Meadowes’ voice, sarcastic and teasing as it was. 

 _“This is Dorcas, receiving you loud and clear. Over.”_  

The four of them cried out in triumph, Lily pulling them all close, her arms tight around their shoulders. Remus laughed at the way their heads pressed together, for a moment uncaring of the way he smelled of sweat and salt, too relieved to process the way his sticky forehead touched Sirius’. 

“Dorcas, hi,” Marlene breathed into the microphone, “Good to hear your voice. Over.” 

 _“You too. Over.”_  

Remus smirked at the unsurprisingly soft candour in Dorcas’ voice. Marlene appeared to have noticed it too, for her cheeks turned a little pink. Sirius snickered, and a pointed elbow came into contact with his side almost immediately. 

“Dorcas, hi,” said Lily into the receiver, “We have… a situation. Over.” 

* 

Remus had thought Sirius was nervous before, but now… Now he was a mess of anxiety and fear and chewed cuticles. Remus watched with an equal feeling of helplessness and dread, wondering if he should say something, wondering if he should break the ten long minutes of silence that weighed heavy on them all. 

The four of them were sitting cross legged around the bulky radio transmitter, having shifted at some point to link their hands together. Now they waited, listening to the sound of static and their own heartbeats, the gentle drumming of the rain a welcome distraction from the near silence. 

Sirius caught his eye, and Remus offered him a weak smile. Sirius’ lips were chapped, and when he attempted a smile in return, they pulled painfully against his teeth, offering little comfort. The red bandana was still tied around his head, the gaudy red colour seeming less bright than it had before. The bandana was dull, the static of the radio was dull, Sirius’ eyes were dull. 

Remus could hardly stand it; the painful, devouring thrum in his head and in his chest, the slow, sadistic twist of his stomach. 

“No matter how this goes,” Sirius said carefully, voice hollow but determined, “Don’t leave me.” 

“We won’t,” whispered Lily, her gaze serious, and Marlene nodded in agreement. 

“Remus?” asked Sirius, and there was a deliberateness to his question, his desperation for the answer so clear in his voice that Remus knew he couldn’t lie. Sirius’ hand clasped his own, warm and solid and real. 

“I won’t leave,” he said, and his cheeks were wet, and Sirius let go of his hand to wipe away his tears, “Not this time.” 

* 

 _15/2/1993_  

 _How to suffer a storm, step six. Sometimes all you can do is keep breathing. Keep breathing._  

 _Just keep breathing._  

* 

Static. Unbearable, monotonous white noise. 

Lily’s eyes shone red and green, the colours of Christmas. Marlene tapped her fingernails against the machine, her hands quivering. Sirius’ head lay on his shoulder. 

They waited in silence. 

* 

 _“Sorry for the wait, we called the landline and the bastard wouldn’t answer at first. Over.”_  

Remus jumped at the sound of Dorcas’ voice, and Sirius’ startled on his shoulder, wrenching himself fully upright. His body began to shake in erratic jerks, his face white. 

“What does she mean ‘at first’?” Sirius demanded, and a flare of hope began to burn in Remus’ chest. The rain outside was calmer now, the pink glow of dusk casting a peachy glow through the clear window of the lamp room. 

Sirius’ skin looked as soft as apricots. His eyelashes had locked together in tiny clumps from crying, the soft light casting triangular shadows on his face. He looked like the sky and the sea, wet and pink, new and bursting. His expression was raw, his hand like sandpaper in Remus’. He breathed, and the motion wracked his chest. 

 _“He’s worried half to death, but he’s safe. He’s safe, Sirius. Over.”_  

Lily looked to Remus, tears in her eyes, and Remus started to laugh. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt and tears poured down his cheeks, and he didn’t care, not one bit, because James Potter was still kicking and fighting and Sirius was smiling so large his cheeks dimpled. 

“Fuck,” said Marlene, her hands in her hair, “ _Fuck!_ ” 

“He’s alright,” Remus said, almost disbelievingly, turning to Sirius and grasping his shoulders tightly, feeling the warmth and solidity of them, “He’s alright! He’s alright.” 

Sirius laughed and cried and leaned forwards and Remus kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Sirius’ head tilted in bemusement, but he didn’t seem angry, or displeased, or sure of how he felt at all. Sirius gave him one last smile before he moved to embrace Marlene in his arms, whispering, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

Remus touched his lips and smiled. 

* 

 _15/2/1993_  

 _How to suffer a storm, step seven. The rainclouds always have a silver lining._  

* 

The atmosphere in the lighthouse after that had been renewed, reformed, into something that it had never been before, something Remus hardly recognised. Lily had begun to sing again, her low voice ringing out in the mornings and brightening the dark corners. Sometimes Remus would see Marlene sitting alone, no longer biting at her fingernails with a furrow to her brow, but staring out a tiny circular window with a soft expression on her face, a hand tapping on the table to a silent beat. 

Sirius seemed to be perpetually on the point of bursting into relieved and happy tears, a genuine smile on his lips and the red bandana around his head. He stood on the balcony of the lamproom more often than not, staring out at the waves, no longer afraid of what might be buried beneath them. He listened to the calls of the seagulls, and he seemed content. 

Despite this, Remus often caught him watching him with a strange look on his face, a pensiveness that made Remus feel nervous and made his stomach twist. 

They didn’t talk about the kiss, and they didn’t talk about the looks they shared when their eyes were sleepy and their touches were indulgent. They talked about other things. They laughed about the past; Sirius’ bike, Peter’s awful haircuts, and a friendship built on school night phone calls. 

They talked about the future, and Remus wondered if perhaps this time he could be a part of one. 

They talked about a lot of things, but they didn’t talk about the kiss. Instead, they ate mediocre soup and played cards and remembered. 

* 

“You know what’s incredible?” Sirius asked, placing a wildcard onto the used pile. 

“What?” Remus asked.

“Yellow, by the way,” Sirius said, and Remus obliged by taking a card from his perfect fan and placing it down, “I can’t believe you managed to avoid seeing me for seven years. James went to visit Lily pretty often. He didn't want to move on. Still doesn’t.” 

“I didn’t start living with Lily until about a year ago,” Remus said quietly, “She was having a pretty bad time. She didn’t mean James any harm.” 

“Oh, it’s fine! I mean… People’ve gotta do what they gotta do, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Remus replied, looking up from his cards and giving Sirius a look he hoped could be interpreted as an apology, as a plea. Something. Maybe the words of apology were there, formulated and precise at the back of his throat, but he couldn’t muster the courage to find them. 

Sirius looked at him with skewed lips, his salty hair curling around his ears. 

“You didn’t have to do what you did,” he said, and Remus wanted to tell him to stop bending the corner of the cards but his chest hurt too much to speak, “It doesn’t make sense.” 

“Are we going to keep playing or should I put the cards down?” 

Sirius sighed loudly, frustratedly, his cards falling neatly out of his hands and onto the table. 

“Do you honestly think you could talk about this without hiding?” Sirius said, much softer than his sigh had been. 

Remus stared at the panes of the tiny window centered in the wall behind Sirius. The rain visible outside was almost more appealing than the thought of talking to Sirius about his feelings, why he’d ran away. There were ghosts in the attic, and he was content to leave them there. 

“It’s hard, Sirius,” he said quietly, “I’m not… I’m not made for words like you are. They get… Stuck.”

Sirius nodded, eyebrows drawn, uncharacteristically still as he listened with soft attention. Remus’ breath stumbled a little, his throat heavy, because Sirius was watching the way his mouth moved and the way his hands gestured and he’d forgotten how hard it was to be the focus of Sirius’ gaze. His hands flexed. His breath shivered. 

“It just happened,” he finally continued, “I felt numb and it finally didn’t hurt.” 

“What didn’t hurt?” 

“Letting you go.” 

Sirius didn’t react the way Remus had expected him to. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Sirius ground out furiously, and Remus swallowed. 

“Because it was easy,” he replied a little helplessly, and Sirius’ nails began to dig into the palm of his hands. 

“It wasn’t easy for me, Remus,” he ground out, “It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t _numb_.” 

Something in Remus’ chest twisted, and he closed his teeth tightly around his bottom lip to keep from crying. He _knew_ that. He _knew_ that it had hurt Sirius, but if letting him go had been so easy for him, then what explanation was there other than the fact that obviously their relationship wasn’t meant to last. 

“So I wasn’t supposed to have a say?” Remus cried, rising unsteadily to his feet and turning away, a tiny part of him acknowledging that he was being a little irrational, but the rest of him cheering his mouth on with vigour. He’d rarely ever shouted at Sirius, too afraid he’d be rejected, left behind, exposed for who he truly was; a cruel boy who hurt everyone around him. 

“You _did_ have a say,” Sirius groaned, “You had _all_ of the say! I cared about you, and you _left_. You left like my parents did, like you’d never even wanted me in the first place!” 

Remus felt his body turn cold, and he felt something warm splash onto his cheek. He lifted a numb hand to touch his face, a little startled when his fingers came away wet with tears. 

“Don’t say that,” he said, feeling sick and guilty, “Don’t say I never cared about you,”

“I don’t need to say it, I _know_ it,” Sirius replied bitterly, “You wouldn’t even pick up the phone, Remus.” 

“I did,” Remus said shakily, his mouth strange and foreign around the words, “I did want you. I _wanted_ you, Sirius. So much.” 

Sirius stared at him, his face clear of everything but shock. 

“What do you mean, _want_?” said Sirius, his voice low and eager and demanding. 

“I _mean_ ,” Remus began, and _God_ , this was it, wasn't it? This was the expulsion of all the things he'd wanted to say to Sirius, this was him being _brave._ “I mean I thought you were the best thing I had in my life. I… I _adored_ you. I _mean_ , Sirius, that I wanted to be your sex on the moon person. More than anything.” 

Sirius stared at him, stunned, his face first turning pale, then flushing with an intensity Remus didn't think capable. 

Suddenly, looking at Sirius’ face that was flushed dark with something yet to be identified, looking at his soft eyes and parted lips, Remus wasn't scared anymore. He didn't need to look away, didn't need to run. And so he simply allowed Sirius to taste his words, to test them silently on his lips, process the sound of Remus saying _‘I adored you.’_  

Remus wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't pushed Sirius away, that he hadn't hurt both his friend and _himself_ by running from his feelings. He felt regret curdle like spoilt milk under his skin, creep into sinew and muscle, gather in his fingertips. He took sharp breaths, curled and opened his hands. Maybe he could shake some of it away, breathe it out like smoke to be torn apart by the air. 

“I can’t explain how I felt, but it was what seemed right at the time,” said Remus. 

He felt like he was falling; his breath being ripped from his throat while the world around him felt like air, pressing around him but not providing any relief. There was no ground, no walls, nothing that made Remus feel real. He was free falling, and it seemed no one was going to catch him. 

“I know,” said Sirius slowly, his voice returning, “And I think… I think I forgive you for it.” 

A nervous hum began to creep through Remus’ fingertips. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly, not daring to turn around, “I know that’s not an excuse. I _know_. But I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Sirius. I didn’t mean to be so… so cruel.” 

“I don’t think you were cruel,” said Sirius gently, sounding much more composed than he’d been a few seconds before, “I think you were scared of the way you felt, and so you ran.” 

Sirius placed a hesitant hand on Remus’ shoulder, and it was so _strange_ . He’d thought about seeing Sirius for years, always imagining what he would say, what Sirius’ answering words would be. He’d never thought to contemplate how warm Sirius’ hand would be, or how the smell of Sirius’ sweat would make him feel like a teenager again. He had laid awake for hours over the past years thinking, and _obsessing_ about the past and about what he’d done, the words he’d said, but he’d never even once considered how much Sirius’ presence would change him. 

He felt like a kid again. He felt solid, incoherent. Reckless.

“I don’t want to be who I was before,” said Remus, turning around, taking Sirius’ hand, “I don’t want to say the same.” 

“We never are,” Sirius said, frankly, “You’re never the same twice. We’re always changing and changing and changing, and when we fall down we grow back different. It’s okay. It happened. It’s _happening_. You’re okay, Remus Lupin. Let yourself move on. You deserve it.” 

Remus was still falling, but now he felt like he was falling somewhere good, somewhere safe. Sirius caught him in his arms, and his shirt smelled of sweat and salt, and for the first time in years, a dam broke in him and he felt everything, felt everything so much and so acutely, and for once his tears didn’t spoil him with guilt. 

“Seven years,” Sirius whispered in bewilderment, in wonder, as they embraced alone in the heart of a lighthouse. “Seven years, and I’m still mad for you.” 

Remus’ cheeks flushed, burned like flame. He felt like he was sleeping. Creating dreams and visions and fantasies, because this couldn’t be real. Sirius couldn’t love him. 

“What?” Remus spluttered, hopeful and angry and embarrassed, “You are not!” 

Sirius laughed, and held Remus’ face in his hands, his thumbs on Remus’ cheekbones. Remus felt grounded, vulnerable, trusting. 

“I am,” promised Sirius with a laugh, and his voice sounded like honey and sweet pea blossoms, “I’m so, _so_ mad for you.” 

“That's ridiculous,” Remus protested, “You're ridiculous.” 

There was a storm inside him, one that wanted to break and consume him. Remus let his sniffles turn once again to tears, and felt like maybe they were drawing some of that storm out, taking it gently from its unwelcome home in his body, his stomach, his heart, and coaxing it from him. It traced down his cheeks; that long held yearning for Sirius’ forgiveness, and the bitterness felt for past mistakes. 

It wasn’t much. It really wasn’t much at all. But it was a beginning; a warm, optimistic beginning, and it tasted like teenage phone calls and watercolour clouds. 

“I still feel the same way. About you.” Remus said, almost reluctantly, and somehow those words felt more vulnerable than _‘I adored you.’_ “I'll even have moon sex with you, if you want.” 

Sirius laughed quietly, kissed his nose. His eyes were grey like the storm outside, but they were different. They were so, so different. 

He’d thought the storm would kill him, that it was a stranger beating on the walls of his hiding place, a poison that was eating him inside out. He was wrong. He _was_ the storm; dangerous, breathtaking, frenzied. His mind thrashed with waves, and energy pulsed in him like a heartbeat. He could hurt, but he could also enchant. Remus felt the realisation of it curl in him like rolls of steam from hot tea.  

The way he felt wasn’t a choice, but locking himself away in a lighthouse was. He had to be bold, and he had to be brave. He had to be strong. He _was_ strong.  

He was the storm, and he was beautiful. 

“Come home with me,” said Sirius firmly, kindly, a glow in his voice, “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

Sirius held him in his arms while the forgiving rain drummed down on the walls of the lighthouse, and Remus felt like he was growing. 

* 

Remus stood on the wood of the docks, fear and longing in his heart, eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to his first taste of spring. It looked like the rolling frost tipped hills of England beyond the dock, and felt like the brittle touch of the wind against his cheeks. It tasted of the heavy thrum of a song on his tongue, like woodsmoke and petrichor. Grey stone lay far behind him, and he would remember it as a tomb, a hiding place, even sometimes as a home. It had been his present and his indefinable future, but not anymore. 

Not anymore. 

For so long he’d closed the doors to ambition and passion and forgiveness, and it was time to open them. For good, this time. 

He didn’t know if this feeling had been there all along, waiting for him to search for it, but he didn’t care. The taste enveloped him and drowned him, but he was more alive than he’d ever been. He stood on solid ground, the whole of Great Britain laid out before him; a terrifying and wonderful painting of the future. He was alive, and it felt good. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Sirius whispered, his words trailing away and over the rocky shores hugging the dock, “Like you’ve got something shining inside you, glowing through your skin.” 

“Yeah,” Remus breathed, “I think this is what you’re supposed to feel like. If you’re lucky.” 

“Then you’re lucky,” said Sirius, reaching out to touch his jaw, his chin, his lips. His kiss felt like New Year’s. 

“The luckiest,” Remus agreed, and Sirius smiled at him as though he could hardly believe he was real. 

They watched James Potter’s car pull into the parking lot across the road. James’ hands were tight around the leather of the steering wheel. Remus smiled at him, and he smiled back. He was older. Handsome. Crying. 

The road before them stretched into the distance, curling, beckoning. It promised new things. Terrifying things. It promised heartbreak and bad days, and it promised unwalked alleys and hopeful moments. Remus could imagine loose leaf tea and warm hands, open fires and the sound of James singing. He imagined Lily kissing him on the cheek at Christmastime, Marlene knocking over glasses with a curse and the laughter of people he loved. He imagined the daffodils beginning to bloom and grass stains on his trousers. He imagined air that didn’t smell of salt, but of warm biscuits and early morning frost and Sirius’ hair on the pillow next to him. 

Endless futures were waiting for him, for _them_ , down the beckoning road and just beyond the peach stained horizon. All they had to do now was start driving. 

* 

 _1/3/1993_  

 _How to suffer a storm, step eight. You will find reasons to wake up. I promise. You’ll find someone with dark hair and comforting smiles and warm hands, and you’ll think that maybe, just maybe, you could have something with them. A future. A life away from the storm. Maybe you could bear to wake up with them and make eggy bread and create inside jokes and dream of where you want to go together._  

 _It will feel like a light turns on. The room will be illuminated, and there will be bad things there. Things that make you want to turn the light off again. But it’s okay. Keep it on. Let the people you love hold your hand, and you won’t have to face the things in that room on your own._  

 _Walking into the unknown is so much more beautiful than the storm and the shadow and the cold. You’ll learn that. You’ll know it, really and truly believe it._  

 _You’ll find a life after the storm, and maybe one day you won’t have to be afraid anymore._  

*


End file.
